doity woid
Amster, Amster, doity woid.
Two-thirty in the morning. Stony picked up the suitcase and headed down the foyer.
"Stony..." Marie stood behind him like a ghost in the dark. She turned on the hall light, blinding them both. She wore a white nightgown. A bloody brown piece of cotton hung from one nostril. A half-moon of dull red under her left eye. She grabbed Stony's hand. "Stony, I just want you to know, that whatever you do, I'll always love you." She pouted, ready to cry. "I'll always forgive you."
Stony was dumbstruck. "Ma?" He tightened his grip on the suitcase. "You're a fuckin' hoowah." He pulled the plug of cotton from her nose. She winced, letting go of his hand, and he was gone.
***
"I couldn't do it, Butler. Last night I got down to Kennedy, first thing I realize, you can't pay for a plane ticket wit' a bankbook, so I come all the way back up to the Bronx, hang around till the bank opens an' take out all my money. I was gonna take a cab back out to Kennedy, I think, at least lemme say goodby to Albert, so I go to Jacobi instead. I walk into his room there an' he's sleepin' like a baby. The doctor says he gonna be O.K., he just needs to rest for a couple a days. The doctor wants to start puttin' him on tranks, see a shrink for a while,
that
scares the shit out of me. You know, seein' a shrink. The kid's eight years old."
Butler and Stony aimlessly tossed around a basketball on a concrete court. Stony took a one-handed jumper from twenty feet out, missing the basket and backboard completely. The ball clanked noisily into the chain link fence separating the court from the sidewalk. The noon sun was hot. Made them slow.
"Anyways, so I just sit there in his room with my suitcase watchin' him sleep. That kid never sleeps at home. Lays in bed late at night until two and he's up at dawn. I never really seen him sleep an' he's always having nightmares. He told me this dream once about Mrs. Halzer, his teacher, makin' him drink this big glass of milk that turns to blood when he's halfway finished."
Underhand Butler tossed the ball from the foul line, hitting the pole. "I remember this dream once I had. My old man is tryin' to screw me up the ass. What's with this fuckin' ball? Next mornin' I find out he had to go to Jacobi with a blocked prostate. Served 'im right, the bastard."
Stony tried to drop-kick the basketball into the hoop, almost booting it over the fence. "I was just sittin' there watchin' him sleep. I figure, shit, I'll leave next week when he comes home, make sure he's O.K., you know?"
"You got a passport?"
"A what?" Stony blinked. "Aw, for chrissakes!" He kicked the basketball into the fence again.
"So get one."
"Ah, fuck it." Stony blew down the front of his shirt to cool off, sitting on a low concrete ledge behind the pole. "Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it." Grimacing, scratching his head.
"Albert'll be O.K." Butler took a cigarette from his shirt pocket and sat down next to Stony.
"It ain't just that, it's, I dunno, you can't just ... I dunno, I kept doing these weird numbers in my head all last night. I kept runnin' down all these ... memories. I keep thinkin' about all these crazy things. Like this one time when I had ringworm on my scalp when I was a kid. My mother took me to a skin guy who was gonna use ultraviolet rays on my head, but he said if I moved a half inch or so my brains would turn to Cream of Wheat, so she said no dice, and I had to do this other treatment where they shaved my head. Can you imagine that? I was bald at six. And it was a real motherfucker too. I wore this stocking hat and all the kids called me Baldy. I would come home cryin' everyday. Fistfights, the whole shtick. But the real bitch was when the mothers found out I was bein' treated for ringworm and told their kids they couldn't play with me. I remember comin' upstairs after my best friend, Mitchell, told me his mother said I have a disease in my head and he couldn't go near me. I came home and I was
Amster, Amster, doity woid.
Two-thirty in the morning. Stony picked up the suitcase and headed down the foyer.
"Stony..." Marie stood behind him like a ghost in the dark. She turned on the hall light, blinding them both. She wore a white nightgown. A bloody brown piece of cotton hung from one nostril. A half-moon of dull red under her left eye. She grabbed Stony's hand. "Stony, I just want you to know, that whatever you do, I'll always love you." She pouted, ready to cry. "I'll always forgive you."
Stony was dumbstruck. "Ma?" He tightened his grip on the suitcase. "You're a fuckin' hoowah." He pulled the plug of cotton from her nose. She winced, letting go of his hand, and he was gone.
***
"I couldn't do it, Butler. Last night I got down to Kennedy, first thing I realize, you can't pay for a plane ticket wit' a bankbook, so I come all the way back up to the Bronx, hang around till the bank opens an' take out all my money. I was gonna take a cab back out to Kennedy, I think, at least lemme say goodby to Albert, so I go to Jacobi instead. I walk into his room there an' he's sleepin' like a baby. The doctor says he gonna be O.K., he just needs to rest for a couple a days. The doctor wants to start puttin' him on tranks, see a shrink for a while,
that
scares the shit out of me. You know, seein' a shrink. The kid's eight years old."
Butler and Stony aimlessly tossed around a basketball on a concrete court. Stony took a one-handed jumper from twenty feet out, missing the basket and backboard completely. The ball clanked noisily into the chain link fence separating the court from the sidewalk. The noon sun was hot. Made them slow.
"Anyways, so I just sit there in his room with my suitcase watchin' him sleep. That kid never sleeps at home. Lays in bed late at night until two and he's up at dawn. I never really seen him sleep an' he's always having nightmares. He told me this dream once about Mrs. Halzer, his teacher, makin' him drink this big glass of milk that turns to blood when he's halfway finished."
Underhand Butler tossed the ball from the foul line, hitting the pole. "I remember this dream once I had. My old man is tryin' to screw me up the ass. What's with this fuckin' ball? Next mornin' I find out he had to go to Jacobi with a blocked prostate. Served 'im right, the bastard."
Stony tried to drop-kick the basketball into the hoop, almost booting it over the fence. "I was just sittin' there watchin' him sleep. I figure, shit, I'll leave next week when he comes home, make sure he's O.K., you know?"
"You got a passport?"
"A what?" Stony blinked. "Aw, for chrissakes!" He kicked the basketball into the fence again.
"So get one."
"Ah, fuck it." Stony blew down the front of his shirt to cool off, sitting on a low concrete ledge behind the pole. "Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it." Grimacing, scratching his head.
"Albert'll be O.K." Butler took a cigarette from his shirt pocket and sat down next to Stony.
"It ain't just that, it's, I dunno, you can't just ... I dunno, I kept doing these weird numbers in my head all last night. I kept runnin' down all these ... memories. I keep thinkin' about all these crazy things. Like this one time when I had ringworm on my scalp when I was a kid. My mother took me to a skin guy who was gonna use ultraviolet rays on my head, but he said if I moved a half inch or so my brains would turn to Cream of Wheat, so she said no dice, and I had to do this other treatment where they shaved my head. Can you imagine that? I was bald at six. And it was a real motherfucker too. I wore this stocking hat and all the kids called me Baldy. I would come home cryin' everyday. Fistfights, the whole shtick. But the real bitch was when the mothers found out I was bein' treated for ringworm and told their kids they couldn't play with me. I remember comin' upstairs after my best friend, Mitchell, told me his mother said I have a disease in my head and he couldn't go near me. I came home and I was
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